


Drifting

by seleneheart



Category: Riddle-Master Trilogy - Patricia A. McKillip
Genre: First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon, Prophecy, Riddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seleneheart/pseuds/seleneheart
Summary: Morgon and Rood take a break from both the weight of destiny and the study of riddles





	Drifting

Morgon of Hed groaned and slammed the book shut.

“Why is it that every King of An had to do something that was worthy of a riddle?” He glared across at the man at the other desk. “Your ancestors are making my head hurt. There are so many of them, and they were all difficult.”

Rood of An shrugged, having heard the tales from birth and they no longer held either charm or trouble for him. “Then stop. We’ve been slaving all winter, it is a beautiful day, let’s go swimming.”

“We have classes this afternoon, and we won’t get a free day until next week.”

“So? We make our own. Come with me, you can wheedle some food out of the cooks; they always fall for that handsome face of yours.”

Morgon sounded scandalized. “We can’t just not show up for class!”

Rood shook his head. Sometimes he did not know how to read Morgon. The man seemed to be a typical hide-bound conservative farmer from Hed most of the time, as he was being now, but sometimes . . . he caught flickers of something that with proper nurturing could be one of the most roguish personalities he’d ever met.

“Yes, we can,” he argued. “And since school is still sitting, we can have the beach to ourselves.”

Of course, Rood eventually convinced Morgon and food sacks and blankets in hand, they snuck down to the beach around the headland from the southern horn of the harbor. It was as deserted as Rood predicted and they stripped, shivering slightly in the wind before they plunged into the water.

They frolicked in the waves, like younger versions of themselves, playing games and wrestling until they were tired and panting. Rood watched Morgon striding out the breakers, and pushed away the pang of longing that clenched his stomach. Morgon was his only hope to save his sister from the fate their father had decreed for her, and for the love he bore her, Rood would sacrifice his own heart.

Morgon flopped down on the blanket beside Rood, tossing his head back and flinging his normally light hair, now seal-dark with water, out of his eyes. He leaned back on his elbows, looking out into the sea, his beer-colored eyes distant as though he were trying to puzzle out a riddle.

The sun shifted out of a cloud, glancing its rays across Morgon’s face as Rood looked at him, lighting strange markings high on Morgon’s brow that his hair usually covered. Rood sat up and pulled his knees under him so that he knelt beside his friend.

“What are those?” His voice was slightly accusing, knowing that he was angry that there was something he did not know about Morgon. He tempered his tone as Morgon’s eyes pinned him. “I mean, I’ve never noticed those before.”

He reached out tentatively, his fingers tracing three star-shaped marks glowing faintly in the sunlight. The stars were slightly raised, catching at his sensitive finger tips while they roamed over Morgon’s warm skin. He wondered at his own boldness, touching Morgon like that, but Morgon remained relaxed under his hand, his gaze gone open and trusting.

“One of the questions no one on Hed could answer . . . Why do I have stars on my face? The Masters know about them, but they’ve never heard tell of such a thing. Master Ohm is trying to help me find the answer.”

Rood was suddenly conscious that his hand was still on Morgon’s face, but before he could gather the will to move it away, Morgon turned into his touch, rubbing his face against Rood’s hand like a cat. Rood met the other man’s eyes and found Morgon looking at him, an assessing look, one that Rood had seen before and reminded him of a fox denying that he had ever been near the henhouse while at the same time licking feathers from his muzzle. Rood had never met anyone who was such an odd combination of innocence and knowledge.

And he was aware of the closeness of their positions. Morgon’s lean hip rested on the blanket beside Rood’s bare thigh and he held his friend’s face as though they were about to sink into an intimate embrace. His blood thundered in his ears and he fought to hide his uncomfortable awareness from the land-heir of Hed, whom he was sure would not understand nor share in his desires. It did not require the riddle of the stars on Morgon’s face for Rood to know that this man was destined for astonishing things, they merely confirmed what Rood had understood since the day they had met.

Morgon increased his confusion by angling his face towards Rood’s, a move that could have been easily laughed away if Rood had chosen to do so, or an action that could be completed if Rood had the courage. Thoughts of saving his sister deserted him and though he knew that he had very little part in the fate of a man with stars on his face, Rood decided that he would be selfish this one time and he closed the gap, sealing his lips over Morgon’s.

They sank together on the rough blanket, long young bodies twisting together, Morgon’s uninhibited responses delighting Rood and driving away any semblance of control.

Later, after Rood had spent hours tracing the stars on Morgon’s face with both his fingers and his lips, when the normality of the College wrapped around them both, Rood tried to find the proper words to tell Morgon why they could not continue, why they should forget the sun-drenched day on the beach. Rood watched from his bed while Morgon readied himself for the night.

“Morgon . . . you must know . . . you and I . . . this isn’t wise.”

Morgon had that assessing look on his face again and Rood did not know what he was thinking.

“Hm, perhaps. Move over.”

Rood gaped at him until Morgon shoved him against the wall and settled himself under the blankets, squirming around until he was tight against Rood’s side, their legs entangled.

“You stubborn farmer, didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I heard you, and when we leave this place we will have our own lives to lead,” Morgon said patiently, as though the two of them together were the simplest thing in the world. “But while we are here . . . why not enjoy each other the way we both want?”

Rood sighed, and then groaned for his body was already telling him that it agreed with Morgon’s reasoning.

“Mathom is lucky that Duac does not share my preferences,” he grumbled by way of capitulation. “Else he’d be the last King of An.”

Morgon whuffled against Rood’s neck. “It doesn’t matter whether you or Duac is his heir. Remember Awn of An? The land will look to its own. Go to sleep, prince, and stop thinking so much.”

Rood lay awake for a long time after that, enjoying the weight of the man he loved in his arms, listening to Morgon’s even breathing. He traced the stars, wondering what they meant, and realizing that Morgon’s destiny would take him places that Rood could not follow. He knew that he would eventually lose Morgon to greater events of the world, but this knowledge, piercing him as it did on the very night that he had given in to his heart, made him want to wail as he had not since he was a child. He fell asleep at last with chill fingers of foretelling wrapping around his spirit.


End file.
